She touched her fingertips to her face. She felt the cool flesh, strange to her touch, and jerked her fingers back.
“Now, before you look in the mirror, understand that you’ve still got swelling here and there and the bruising has faded quite a bit, but it looks pretty god-awful. However, your husband has pronounced you gorgeous and you will be in about another week or so. Here, take a look.”
She wasn’t so sure she wanted to look, given all his disclaimers. She held the antique mirror up and forced herself to look into the glass. She swallowed, forcing herself to focus only on her face. She studied the three suture lines, the curious swelling that made her look like a lumpy frog, particularly around her right eye. It was the strange pale green and sunflower-yellow bruises that finally made her smile. She looked ridiculous. She looked like a prisoner of war. How could Taylor not look at her and fall on the floor with laughter? She was silent for the longest time, merely looking at herself.
Taylor became restive.
Dr. Perry looked ready to gnaw his fingernails.
Lindsay said finally, a small laugh in her voice, “I’m so beautiful I think I’ll call Demos to set up a photo session for this afternoon.”
“Wash your hair first,” Taylor said, leaned down, and kissed her. “Here I was halfway hoping for a little Igor to help me with all my storm and electrical experiments, and you have to go and disappoint me.”
Dr. Perry, grinning, said, “I’ve already spoken to your private nurse on how to get you cleaned up. She knows what to do. Tonight you and Taylor need to have your first regular meal. Demos is having it delivered here from La Viande.” He shook Lindsay’s hand. “I just thought I should warn you.”
“Can I go home tomorrow?”
Taylor said quickly, “Yes. Missy is coming along. We’ll put her in the third bedroom. I don’t want you alone, sweetheart, not yet. Also Barry is sending Officer Fogel. He’ll probably give all his attention to Missy, but there’s at least safety in numbers. I don’t ever want you alone, not until we find out who’s behind all this.”
“It isn’t Dr. Gruska.”
“No.”
“It isn’t my family either.”
“Probably not. Not enough time for the planning of it.”
Lindsay sighed. Who, then? She turned and gave her hand to Dr. Perry. “Thank you. When will I see you again?”
They set up an appointment for the following Monday. Taylor would bring her to his office on Fifth Avenue at Fifty-first Street. “Third floor, suite 306.”
When they were alone, Lindsay said, “Please, Taylor, you don’t have to pretend that I look great.”
“Okay,” he said, and grinned at her. “But you know, I really enjoy the Mutant Ninja Turtles on TV. I can now relate.”
“You’re thin.”
“So are you.”
“If I wear a bag over my head, will you sleep with me when we get home?”
He wondered if she meant sleep, pure and simple sleep, or sex, not so pure, nor so simple, but loads more fun. “Maybe I’ll wear the bag,” he said. “You know, Lindsay, we need to get a start on that huge box of supergigantic condoms the nurses gave you.”
She hadn’t meant sex; he saw that quickly enough. But she was thinking about it now and he looked at her closely, studying the myriad expressions that came across her face. “Okay,” she said, and then yawned.
“I just hope they’ll be big enough,” she added after he’d turned, closing her eyes.
He started, jerking around and looking down at her. He saw a tiny smile quiver on her lips. He saw himself slipping on a condom, saw her smiling at him as he did it, her legs spread for him, and he nearly came right there.
“I’ve got to go get a drink of water,” he said.
Taylor took her home the following morning. She wore sunglasses, at her fervent request, but her hair was soft and shining, so filled with deep waves he wanted to bury his hands and his face in the thick masses.
Fogel brought Missy to the apartment in a patrol car, which, he’d confided to Taylor, tended to make women horny.
To Lindsay’s astonishment and chagrin, by the time she was standing in her own bedroom, she was exhausted.
“No complaints about bed, huh?”
She shook her head. “This is stupid.”
“No, this is recuperation, babe.”
“But what about our wedding night?”
“Our what? Oh, that. I’d forgotten all about it.”
She smacked her fist in his belly.
She slept away the morning and into the afternoon. When she woke, Missy brought her lunch. Taylor wasn’t there, Missy told her, but Fogel was sitting in the living room. He was probably contemplating seduction strategies for Missy.
At two o’clock the phone rang. Missy answered, then called out to Fogel.
Lindsay heard his voice from the living room, but not the words. He came into the bedroom a moment later, grinning, relief flooding his boyish features. “That was Captain Brooks. He says they caught that Oswald creep and I should come on back in now.”
As if this were the first time he realized the meaning of the words, Fogel suddenly sounded very depressed. He looked at Missy and said “Shit” under his breath. “They need me,” he added. He shuffled a moment, then said to Missy, “You want to walk me to the patrol car?”
“Just a moment,” Lindsay said. “Didn’t this Captain Brooks tell you anything else? Who hired Oswald?”
“He didn’t say, Mrs. Taylor. Would you like me to call him back?”
Lindsay saw that Missy was fully prepared to give Officer Fogel quite a treat. She smiled and shook her head. “No, give me the number and I’ll call him. Thank you for your help, and good luck.”
He gave Lindsay the number, then he and Missy wrapped up in coats and left the apartment, arms entwined.
Lindsay dialed. The phone rang once, twice. It was picked up on the third ring, and a man said, “Twelfth Precinct, Johnson here.”
“May I please speak to Captain Brooks?”
“Just a moment.”
She waited. Her breathing quickened. They’d caught him! They’d caught Oswald. Thank God. Now, who had hired him? Soon it would be over, soon Oswald would tell them. Her palms felt wet and cold. Soon, very soon now, she’d know who wanted her dead. Soon now.
Another man came onto the line.
“Hello? I hear you want Captain Brooks.”
“Yes, please.”
“He’s been on vacation for the past four days, ma’am. He won’t be back until Monday week. You a friend of his?”
Oh, God, a lie, a diversion to get Officer Fogel out of the apartment. “I’m Lindsay Foxe Taylor. Captain Brooks just called here to say that Oswald had been caught. He asked Fogel to come back to the station.”
Silence.
Then a sudden explosion of recognition. “Oh, damn! Listen, Mrs. Taylor, you make sure your door’s locked and bolted. I’ll have some men over there in—!”
“What? You mean that—? What’s going on?”
The phone was dead. Completely and suddenly very dead. No dial tone, just silence, deep silence.
Lindsay eased it away from her ear, held it out in front of her, and just stared at it. Then she knew the man hadn’t hung up on her. He hadn’t dropped the phone. Someone had cut the wire. She swallowed and stared toward the doorway. She had to lock the front door. She knew that Missy would have left it unlocked when she’d left with Fogel. Had she even left it open? Was she even now kissing Fogel in his squad car?